Two Fears

I have two fears.

Actually, I have many, many fears, but we don’t have the time, and I’m sure I’ll write about each as time and interest warrants. 

These are not the fears that keep you up at night, or cause you to glance over your shoulder nervously when walking alone. These are not red-balloon tied to a sewer gutter fears. These are the fears that settle in your gut. The fears that cause me to feel unexpectedly anxious or irritable. That unrest that finds me tapping my foot rapidly or pulling at my hair, or chewing absentmindedly on the inside of my lip. That invite me to look ever to the next distraction, to refresh my social feed again and again. That cause me to put on another podcast, another audio book. Anything to not be left alone with my thoughts. 

Today is the last day of my thirties. And these are the two fears: 

1. I am running out of time, energy, and resources to chase down that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
2. The sinking dread that there is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. 

This is a silly metaphor, I know. There is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. So says everyone who has never reached the end of the rainbow themselves. 

Last summer I remember staring at a vivid rainbow outside of our house, and marvelling at what a clever illusion it was. The end of the rainbow did not fade out of view, or reach mysteriously behind nearby hills, it landed in a backyard, between the 3rd and 4th row of houses on the hill across the highway. I could mark the spot on Google maps. Could have driven down myself, and grabbed that pot of riches before the resident of Sullivan Road was ever the wiser. 

The pot, of course, is never seen. I think that’s important. After all, in our mind it’s always overflowing. More than enough to satisfy our debts, our needs, and even our wildest longings. 

The metaphor makes perfect sense to me because of how clear the rainbow appears, and how limitless the gold is imagined. 

I find myself chasing rainbows all the time. The pots of gold are different, sometimes defined, often vaguely alluded to. They are often limitless, and they are always the solution a problem. 

This is a central thesis of the philosopher Peter Rollins. He refers to it as ‘the lack’. He suggests that each of us has a lack, and each of us is believing a lie (or many lies) about what will eliminate the lack in our lives. It might be money, it might be success, it might be adoration, or respect. It could look like veganism, or spirituality, or fitness. Rollins jokes that in his home town of Los Angeles, it looks a lot like CrossFit.

In my own faith tradition of Christianity, it was common language to speak of a “God shaped hole”. And though that sounds like a trite title of a Christian-rock song (it absolutely was), there may be more truth to it than those in church were willing to admit. Because here too, we attempted to fill the lack with things that seemed like, but were not, God. Specific prayers, right beliefs, structured habits, even an authentic relationship with the Divine. All intended to fill the lack. All unsuccessful. 

And how do I know that they were unsuccessful? Because we kept feeling the lack. Kept chasing rainbows. Kept looking for the next bigger and better pot of gold.

As I rapidly approach forty, I have never ran so hard towards the end of the next rainbow, and it’s magical gold. This is the result of that first fear, a frantic impatience that I’m running out of time. There is that sense that I must do it now. Be a more spontaneous husband, be a more present father. Become a more competent and compassionate nurse. Become a successful writer and communicator. Get published, write that book! Get in shape now, because 40 could be the new 30!

None of these things, are bad, of course. But each is promising something. That a perfect relationship with my spouse and children is achievable. That somehow I could avoid the heartache of loving and misunderstanding another as we grow and change. That with enough experience and training I could anticipate and properly respond to each crisis at work. That with proper diet and exercise I could feel better than I did in my 20s (this one might actually be achievable, I was awful to myself in my 20s…). That if I was a published author and had the admiration of friends and strangers, that I could quiet my own critic inside my head.

But the real beauty of Rollins’ concept of ‘the lack’ is that you may get exactly what you hope for, and still find it wanting. That you might have an amazing marriage, resilient and loving children, ageless complexion, a respectable career that you enjoy and have mastery of, and achieve your wildest ambitions.

And you will still feel incomplete.

Which brings me to the most deceptive rainbow, the most elusive pot of gold. That there is a way to navigate all of these desires, all these rainbows and pots, in a manner that actually fills the lack. A life in perfect balance. Exercise and diet, but also wings and beer. Friendship and love, but also silence and solitude. Spirituality and realism in turns. Wisdom to lead the best life, one where the lack simply disappears. 

I know that this is the most deceptive rainbow, because it’s the one I want to chase, even now. The one I’m not certain is false, even as I examine it. This is the rainbow visible across the highway. The one I suspect I could actually find the end of, if only I knew the exact route and coordinates. 

But I also suspect that wisdom, true wisdom, is the acceptance of my second fear. That there is no pot of gold, no magic bullet, no wise and skillful navigating that will ultimately fulfill that lack within me. 

That the lack may be my oldest friend, and constant companion. That the lack will be with me always. No matter how in shape, no matter how accomplished, no matter how loved or respected. The lack stands beside me, whispering and reminding that the most beautiful illusions are just that. 

That I may never feel whole, but I am.

And that my life, and all that I require, is here.